I880J 




POEMS, 



— BY- 



WlLLIAM HURRELL MaLLOCK, 

AUTHOR OF "the NEW REPUBLIC," " THE NEW PAUL AND YIRGIOTA,' 
"is LIFE WORTH LIVING?" ETC. 



" The mount is mute, the channel dry.''' 



ROCHESTER, N. Y.: 

GEO. W. FITCH, PUBLISHER, 60 ANDREWS STREET. 
1880. 



605163 

FEB 17 1941 






III 



TO 

Mr OLD FRIEND, AND PRIVATE TUTOR, 

THE REVEREND W. B, PHILPOT, 

LATE OF LITTLE HAMPTON, SUSSEX, 
UNDEB WHOSE CAEE MY HAPPIEST DAYS HAVE BEEN SPENT, 

AND IN WHOSE HOUSE 

MOST OF THESE POEMS WERE WRITTEN. 



PREFACE. 

The Poems in this Volume, mtli but one or two excep- 
tions were written between mj seventeenth and my twen- 
tieth year. A few months ago I had no thought that I 
should eyer be thus drawing them from theii' priyacy ; but 
a cei-tain number of fi'iends who have seen them in manu- 
script tell me that they have taken some interest in them, 
and that, were they published, others might do so likewise. 
This has been repeated to me seA^eral times lately, and my 
yanit}'^, if not my judgment, has made me think there may 
be some truth in it. But in acting on this suggestion with 
all a parent's pleasure, I cannot but smile as I reflect how 
no fame or applause that anything could bring me now could 
eyer equal the pleasure I should once have felt could I have 
only seen these yerses published. 

As for their own merits, and their yarying tone and sen- 
timent, the reader must judge them as he pleases ; but a 
writer himself, w^ho looks back oyer ten years at them, may 
be allowed the forlorn hope that what he sees of good in 
them he has at least tried to develop, and what he sees to 
be regretted he has at least tried to outgrow. 
March, 1880. 



MALLOCK'S POEMS. 



PKOEM. 

Fair flocks of rainbow-plumed iniagiuings, 
Flown hitherward from some untrodden dell, 
In the soul's mid forest, scarce accessible ! 

Lured by the lustre of your sheeny wings. 
Perforce I chase you, and with patient care 
Outspread in vain — ^in vain too oft, the snare ; 

Or take at last but bruised and faded things. 
Yes, wayward Speech, thou dost still falsify 
Mine inmost thoughts and dearest ; and still I 

Mourn over all th}^ maimed interpretings — 
For all the subtler senses 'scaj)ed like birds 
From the coarse meshes of these woven words — 

For the poor half-truth left, so like a lie! 

An. set. 19. 



MALLOCK'S POEMS, 



A CHILD'S LOVE-SONG. 

[composed in a swing.] 



The breezes are sighing 
About me, above me ! 

Oh, I should be happy. 
If Ceha would love me ! 



But without Celia's love 
The breezes may blow ; 

And, for all that I care. 
To the devil may go ! 

An. get. 



MJLLOCK'S POEMS. 



A BOY'S LOVE-SONG. 



If Celia won't have you, foucl lover, 
Why squander in sighing the day ? 

If all your entreaties won't move her, 
Resent it, .and meet her half way. 



Suj)pose you were now to possess her, 
Her beauty and all you desired ; 

How soon you would cease to caress her ! 
How soon of the beauty be tired ! 



Then sing a more resolute measure, 
Nor squander in sighing the day ; 

It cannot be much of a treasure 

Whose charms with possession decav. 
An. a;t. 13. 



10 MALLOCK'S POEMS. 



A BOY'S DREAM. 



My life is overliung with cold grey shade 

Of frozen clouds that Avill not weep and die : 
Hope's orphan flowers hang languid heads, and fade 
'Neath such a wintry sky. 



But though my sun be quenched, of thy pale beams, 

O Moon enchantress, let the man forlorn 
AVeave for his soul a dsedal woof of dreams, 
, Proof against all cold scorn ! 

III. 
Yes, let me here forget my life, my home, 

In a rapt dream o'er these hypastral seas. 
Charmed by the luminous fall of silver foam, 
In foamy melodies : 



Far gazing where the ocean moonlight fades 

Into the starry mystery of night ; 
Watching the wandering shudders of soft. shades 
That skim the quivering light ; 

V. 

Till, as shed snows in water, more and more 

That which I am be lost in that I see. 
Oh, dreamy, foamy moonlight! dreamy shore ! 
Oh, dreamy ecstasy ! 



MALLOCK'S POEMS. 11 



My spirit's plumes expand, and a mute wind 

Lifts them, and I am floated far away 
From this dull world of loveless men and blind, 
Close wedded to their clay. 



Into new realms of buried mystery. 

Whose secret gates some sudden hand unbars, 
Where the wild beauties of old ages he. 
Looted down upon by stars. 



Strange sounds and musical are on the gales. 

Of tongues long mute ; and lo ! beneath my eyes 
Sweep carven-prows, and shadowy ghmmering sails 
Of ancient argosies ; 



And triremes with the measured flash of oars, 

And foam-wan plumes, and breastplates luminous, 
And calm-eyed pilots, helming towards the shores 
Of leagured Pergamus. 



My soul goes forth over the isles of fame. 

White temples, and dark fi^ondage ; panting seas 
That wash with wavering fringe of liquid flame 
The sacred Cyclades. 



12 MALL OCR'S POEMS. 



Now once again tlie startled stars behold 

Wan throngs of faces turned towards the skies ; 
Phantoms adoring phantom gods, in old 
Hy]3yethral sanctuaries, 



That stand mid lawns, for ages long unknown, 

Islanded in the deep heart of forest-seas, 
And resonant ever with the low lorn moan 
Of Hamadryades. 



Now great lone lands, with feverish interchange 

Of hollow shadows and pale sickly gleams. 
Perplex my eyes ; wild places, vague and strange, 
And veined with silverv streams — 



Streams rock-born, down from splintered mountains dash- 
Girdling below, with sparkling lines of light, [ing, 
White skeletons of old mammoth cities flashing 
On purple plains of night. 



Rising o'er biUowy mountain-lands unknown. 

Wrecks of faint light strewn on a shadowy sea. 
The aching moon looks down upon the lone 
Caucasian Calvary ; 



MALLOCrCS POEMS. 13 



And peering, pale over pale mountain snows, 
On the. worn watcher and the cruel chain; 
Carves on the livid marble of his brows 
Keen hieroglyphs of pain. 



He hetli there, calm, beautiful, and bound, 

Walled by vast crags and roofed by fretted skies. 
AVhat anguish speaks in that pure gaze profound 
Of star-ward, earnest eyes! 



But what is here — this darker prison-place — 

These fi'iends with muffled faces and held breath ; 
And what is this — this one unearthly face — 
This hemlock-di-aught of death ? 



Ah see, he lifts the elixir to his hps, 

And lilie the moon unclouding by degrees, 
Breaks from the dimness of terrene eclipse 
The soul of Socrates. 



Hail, my one love, old beauty born again. 
Dear lovely things of ages long gone by, 
Whose last smiles minish from the world, as men, 
Grown loveless, multix^ly ! 



U MALLOCTCS POEMS. 



As a lone sitter on a sea-rock craves 

Headlong to plunge into the clear green seas, 
Catching the wavering lustre through the waves 
Of ocean palaces, 



So have I longed, ye beautiful dead years, 

For you and yours, seeing the things that be 

Touch me with cold that nips, or heat that sears. 

And have smaU part in me. 



For what to me is man, whose ruthless tread 

Tramps beauty's flame to ashes day by da}^ ; 
And even with its death not satiated, 

Sweeps the poor dust away ? 



"Wherefore, dear things of ages long gone by, 
My one own love, dead Beauty born again, 
I hail you and I worship you — yea I, 
An alien among men. 



Unloved of all. But ye, ye long-closed lids, 

Unfold for me ; comfort me, splendid eyes ! 
Smile lips, embalmed beneath the pja-amids 
Of heaj^ed-up centuries ! 



MALLOCTCS POEMS. 15 



Spurn me not, neither scorn me, peerless throng. 

Who roam immortal through the fields of verse, 
Queens of the wizard universe of song. 
Be je my comforters! 



Lo, 3^onder — who is she, who wildly-eyed 

Yearneth for somewhat o'er the star-lit sea. 
From yon wet rock, whereround the sluggish tide 
Sobs slow and heavily ? 



The flagging wind floats her loose fluctuous hair. 
As waves float weed. Unheeded creeping down, 

Her raiment leaves her glimmering l^osom bare : 
Sea-dews are moist thereon. 



' Ah, whither through thine eyes hath thy soul fled ! 

My Dido, he will not return to thee ! 
We twain are lone : let twain be comforted. 
Dost thou think scorn of me ? 



' Kiss me, sweet lips, that have nor cold nor heat, 

Thou fair, sweet, supersensual sensuousness ! 
Lull me with love that sees itself ^s sweet. 
With passion passionless !' 



16 MALLOCTCS POEMS. 



XXXI. 



The eyes that have been o-azmg otherwhere 

Droop down on mine, as these words strike her ears : 
And lo, the ha^d dry ice of glazed despair 
Thaws in slow large warm tears. 



XXXII. 



The relaxed lips, half opening, dreamily, 

Breathe soft things over me, her worshipper- 
So soft they all melt in the moist wind's sigh, 
And the sad wave water. 



XXXIII. 



I only feel on mine those lips of hers. 

And the soul's mingling, where the twain mouths ding, 
In harmony like sun-blent rain-colors. 

Or stricken string with string. 



And each soul's aching melts in sighs, as snow, 

Spring-charmed, in dew ; love making all past pain 
Sweet sadness, as a red sun sets a-glow 
A dying day of rain. 



But hark! a gasping wind is gathering : 

I catch a sudden sprinkhng of blown spray. 
I start : my bubble bursts, and everything— 
My whole dream — falls away. 



MALL0CIC8 POEMS. 17 



Numbed Self springs up ; and, fresh from trance, once more 

Clutclies my soul, once more made void and cold ; 
And I, lone on this old familiar shore, 
With stupid eyes, behold 



A great night hung with starlight, stooping down 

Over the tumbled silver of the sea ; 
And hear a voice, 'Is beauty wholly gone ? 
Let these things comfort thee : 



'And Love, and Good, and Beauty, one thing crowned 

With many names, lead on th}^ swerveless soul 
By ways wherein but parts of good are found. 
To realms where reigns the whole. 



' Thou dost not seek the soul in coffined clay : 

Then seek not Beaut}'^ in the blind, dead years. 
Onward ! This life will soon have passed away. 
Of prisoned straining tears. 



' To thee the Nile of Time is sourceless ever ! 

Vain, vain to tempt the upper mystery ! 
Trim thou thy sails for where the buffeting river 
Meets with God's boundless sea.' 

Littlehampton, an. set. 17. 
2 



18 MALLOCK'S POEMS. 



SONG. 



I. 



I DID not offer thee up mine heart, 
Nor did I ask, thou know'st, for thine. 

I only said, ' Until we part 

Lend it, and I will lend thee mine.' 



And have we passed those hours in vain ? 

We met, we smiled — we smile, we sever. 
Is it in vain that thus we twain 

Have met, though thus we part for ever ? 



In vain ? Shall I ever forget your eyes. 
Or the love that died of despair in me ? 
For my love but lived in despaii-'s despite, 
Like a new-born babe that sees the light 
For a moment, and smiles, and dies, 
And lives in its mother's memory. 

An. get. 16. 



MALLOCK'S POEMS. 19 



LUX MALIGNA. 

Her eyes were like Cocytus' midnight deeps, 
When far in the transparent darkness sleeps 
The moon, whose face, as the waves tremble, flashes 
In oily rij)ples, mid the reedy lashes 
Dpng incessantly, Who would not shrink, 
Shivering, from that sad stream's uncertain brink. 
Fancying the noiseless volumes shding o'er 
Strange horrors unconceived, and brimmed with store 
Of hzard-footed things? So none there were 
Who loved those eyes, and the strange moonHght there. 

An set. 18. 



20 MALLOGK'S POEMS. 



A FRIEND. 

Friend let me call you — may I ? friend to me : 
And like a casket let that wide word be, 
Wherein, perchance, some costlier treasure lies — 
Wherein we hide, in clouds of close eclipse, 
The faltering few things known to Hps and lips — 
The many mute things known to eyes and eyes ! 

An set. 18. 



MALLOCK'S POEMS. 21 



ALTEE ET IDEM. 



This day, in this same place, we met last year, 
And Absence, the omnipotent severer, 

Since then on thee and me hath worked his wiU : 
I would, my last year's love, as thou stand'st here. 

My last year's love, I would I loved thee stiU! 



Does not this place seem strange to thee and me — 
This fresh cool wash and whisper of the sea. 

We knew so well together ? Oh, how strange ! 
All's out of tune now — ^jars discordantly. 

This old known place, I would it too would change ! 



How miserably the same those cliffs of grey ! 
And see — a boat again, too, in the bay ! 

And yon lone sea-girt grey rock, sunset-lit 
With those same tints we two admired that day ! 

My last year's love, hast thou forgotten it ? 



And thou — ah, wherefore art thou still so fair ? 
Where are thy smiles still just so what tlie}^ were, 

Save that for me they speak not any love ? 
Why hast thou still that same bright golden hair, 

Now I have no share in the praise thereof? 



22 MALLOKK\S POEMS. 



I may not call you now wliat I did then. 
Your lips and smiles are cold and alien. 

Those times and these — how Hke ! how wide apart ! 
I have lost what I shall never learn again. 

I have forgotten the by-ways of your heart. 

An. set. 18. 



MALLOCWS POEMS. 23 



ON LAKE COMO. 

The stars are o'er our heads in hollow skies, 

In hollow skies the stars beneath our boat. 
Betwixt the stars of two infinities, 

Midway uj^on a gleaming film we fioat. 
My Hps are on the sounding horn ; 

The sounding horn with music fills. 
Faint echoes backwards from the world are borne, 

Tongue d by yon dusky zone of slumbering hills. 
The world spreads wide on every side. 

But dark and cold it seems to me. 
What care I, on this charmed tide, 

For aught save those far stars and thee ? 

An. let. 17. 



24 MALLOCK'S POEMS. 



IN THE CELL. 

' Even in this solitary life the Saint underwent many temptations 
and assaults of the Evil One ; and he relates that on one occasion the 
recollection of a beautiful woman, whom he had seen at Eome, took 
such possession of his imagination, that he was on the point of quit- 
ting his retirement and betaking himself to her comj)any. ' 

' Oh tortuosas vias ! V:8e animse audaci quae speravit, si a te re- 
cessisset, se aliquid melius habituram !' 

S. Aug. Conf. lib. vi. 26. 



MALLOCK'S POEMS. 25 



IN THE CELL. 



I MUST have knelt here long, the black-wick'd light 
Flares now so grossly. In mine ears the night 

Is dumb as at its season loneliest. 
AVhat do I here ? Hardly I know aright ; 

But I must kneel still, for I dare not rest. 



Kneel in my wretchedness — leagues, leagues away 
From all the hours and faces of the da}^ 

How faint and far they seem ! They httle guess 
With what strange twain alone I strive — not they — 

Here in my mid soul's ghostliest wilderness — 



My sin, and Christ. He, worn with many a wound, 
Here pleads. His voice — ah, hark to that sad sound 

I dare not, but I feel it all the same. 
And there, not pleads, but scorns, with gold hair crowned, 

She whose mere scorn but fans and feeds my flame. 



Christ and my sin and I, a dream-like three ! 
Some dreadful thing, it seems, has come to me. 

More dreadful than I wot of. When 'tis day, 
I shall but give a little start to see 

All my face changed — my hair grown sudden grey. 



26 MALL OCR'S POEMS. 



I know not wliy, to-night, but all tliingn seem 
Like feverish shapes of some cle spaiiing dream. 

How strangely ghastlier and more woe-beg(me 
Stares in the lamplight's waver of gloom and gleam 



VI. 

Strangely the little shadows shake and crawl 
On the rough stone-work of this nude dim wall, 

And pale stone semblance of God's thorny crown. 
How strange these seem — my sin, and I, and all I 

Oh, what a dull weight loads mine eyelids down ! 



Eyelids and eyes ache ! M}^ brain reels : my knees 
May have been bended thus for centuries, 

It almost seems, here o]i this bare stone floor. 
I have been changed, I think, by some disease, 

And am become a nightmare — man no more. 



Into mine ears the silence creeps and clings, 
Orotesque with hosts of quaint, vague whisperings, 

Oh for some common living thing, to break 
This silent, long monotony of things. 

And show me truly if I sleej) or wake ! 



Perhaps 'twill soon be day. I do not know. 
I cannot tell if time moves swift or slow. 

Hours may be moments, moments may be hours. 
Would I could lighten a little this load of woe. 

Ere through the broken East the dull dawn lowers 



MALLOCK'S POEMS. 27 



Dawn ! av, and dav ! Alas ! my j)art in day, 
It seems, is gone from me — quite passed away. 

Like young life's guilelessness and love and trust, 
Day will at least come back as dismally 

As ghosts of these, if come at length it must. 



Oh, Lord, have pity on all this barren pain ! 
Lo, how two wiUs have striven, until the tAvain, 

Each sickly-tired, each unvictorious, 
Have grown, like streams, drunk l^y a sandy plain, 

Lost in blank wastes of woe monotonous : 



"Whilst weariness completes my misery. 
My head feels heavy, aching giddily : 

The flaring lamp, too, reels for weariness, 
Impure and tired and dizzy, evei!: as I, ' 

Whose wh-ole good part has waned to one distress. 

XIII. 

AVearily flaring — ay ! — AVhy, that's the Hit — 
Yes — of a gnat's wings, snared and singed in it. 

The lamp's alive at least. Lo, once again 
I feel some quick j^rism of the sj^irit split 

Into live parts this formless sense of pain. 



Again my love confi-onts me. Again I know 
I cannot, cannot leave it — not although 

There's bitter leaven in this forbidden bread. 
God let that taste abide. 'Tis better so : 

For whilst that lasts I am not wholly dead. 



28 MALLOCK'S POEMS. 

XV. 

But yet I cannot pray. No tear will fall 
Out of my soul's dry eyes. Aloud I call — 

My voice— but my heart fails me evermore. 
AVould I could sin my sin out once for all, 

Not let the longing rot me to ihe core ! 



Oh, sterile strife ! Oh, hateful bended knees ! 
Oh, mockery of bitterest mockeries ! 

I cannot pray. I totter towards despair, 
These be no prayers, mere sighs and groans like these, 

Though phantom-shaped deceitfully like prayer. 



What shall I do? Rise from my knees again? 
Thus with my very body why remain 

Lying, O Thou far patient God, to Thee ? 
Am I indeed so very wicked, then? 

And is Christ's work made wholly vain in me ? 



For what hope's left ? I struggle in vain to pray, 
Ev'n mid my groans my soul still steals away 

Back to the haunting hair, and proud soft eyes — 
The soul forbidding what the sad lips say — 

Mere words — mere hoUow husk of prayer-like lies. 



In vain I start and struggle. In vain I try 
To think on that kind Christ I crucify. 

The sad face fades, and from the dim eclipse 
Her eyes and hair shine forth luxuriously, 

"With curved contempt upon her listless lips. 



MALLOCK'S POEMS. 29 



Oh, sad love, heavy upon me Hke despair ! 
Oh, large dark eyes that haunt nie everywhere 

With eloquent wealth of hds ! Pale, perfect face, 
Crowned with the strange surprise of golden hair, 

Leave me — oh, leave me for a httle space ! 

XXI. 

Wouldst thou but one short moment tarry away. 
Then might I seize the time, and cry, and say, 

' Cleanse me, O Lord, and make my sick heart whole.' 
One prayer might save me ; but I cannot pray. 

Save groaning, ' Pity, O Lord, this prayerless soul !' 

xxn. 

Alas ! for all my strugglings I shall die,^ 
No prayer will come for all my agony ; 

Vain is the strength of all my travailings. 
A snared bird vainly beats its wings to fly. 

How hard soe'er it strive, the gin's tooth clings. 

xxni. 
What, then, are prayers ? I think no prayer could be 
Wrung out of a man's heart more bitterly. 

One after one I feel that start and roll — 
These blood-drops of my soul's Gethsemane ; 

My groans, the bloody sweat-drops of m}^ soul. 



And all in vain, it seems — -in vain, in vain ! 
I scarce know what I say, for dizz}^ pain 

Blurs all in one confusion. Everything 
Reels in the sick delirium of my brain — 

Yea, Christ reels too j yet still to Him I cling. 



30 MALLOCK'S POEMS. 

XXV. 

And sin to me. Both cling — ^I know not liow ; 
All swims in this hard aching of my brow : 

And now' night's come, and none may work therein. 
Curse, curse my weakness. Sleep is on me now, 

Mine eyes ache. I must slumber with m}" sin. 



Mine eyelids can no longer hold apart ; 

The giddy lamplight feeems to dance and dart, 

And sickens me. Mine eyeballs — how the}" ache! 
Pity, O Christ, mine unrepentant heart, 

For, come what wiU, I can no longer wake. 

XXVII. 

Yet, sinking in this bitter lethargy, 

' God, God !' I call, even as some drowner's cry, 

As his strength fails, who knows not what he saith, 
But thinks he shrieks — ' Haste, help me, or I die !' 

Christ help me ! Sleep — ^and is this also death ? 

An. «)t. 19. 



MA LL CJCS P OEMS. 31 



SONG. 

'HAi)3aT0is vTvh KevB/j-uiai yeuoL/uau, 

'iva /xe TTTepovcrap upviv 

6ehs eV TrrauaTs ayeXaiaLv Oei-f] 

ap6eir]V S' eVl irovriou 

Kv/xa Tas 'A8pir]uus 

CLKTuS ^Upidapov Ql SScop. 

EUKTP. Blp. T2n-1^% 



32 MALLOCK'S POEMS. 



SONG. 

Would God I were now by the sea, 

By the winding, wet, worn caves, 

By the ragged rifts of the rocks ; 
And that there as a bird I might be 

AVhite-winged with the sea- skimming flocks. 
Where the spray and the breeze breathe free 

O'er the ceaseless mirth of the waves, 
And dishevel their loose grey locks. 
I would spread my wings on the moist salt air. 

And my wide white wings should carry me, 

Lifted up, out over the sea. 
Carry, I heed not where — 

Somewhither far away ; 
Somewhither far from my hateful home. 

Where the breast of the breeze is sprinkled with spray, 
Where the restless deep is maddened with glee. 

Over the wave's wild ecstasy, 

Through the free blown foam. 

An. £et. 18. 



MALLOCK'S POEMS. ■ 33 



A MAY IDYL. 



Would I might lean and dream here evermore, 
Thus by green shadow of hazels murmured o'er, 

Nor ever wander away, clear pool, from thee. 
Through whose pure wave thine amber-flickering floor, 

Swims ever upwards, wavering languidl}^ ! 



For May is ruddy and gold amongst the trees, 
All round the Httle valley's sides of peace. 

Where no man's voice, nor any voice, makes stir, 
8ave sometimes o'er the leafy loneliness 

The long, loose laugh of the wild woodpecker. 



Y^es, here, clear pool, deliciously alone, . 

Here let me muse and dream, and make mine own 

All of thy beauty, and every change of thine — 
The tremulous shades that cling to every stone. 

And all those tawny stones that shake and shine : 



Or else, what new sweet charm they bring for thee. 
These breaths, whereof the hazels lisp to me, 

Wildering thy floors with glimmerings manifold ; 
Or melting into one rich mystery 

The enamelled softness of their brown and gold : 
3 



34 MA L LOCK'S POEMS. 



And then, again, the breezy shviclder allayed, 
And those slow coiling lights that lloat and fade 

Down through the clear mid-water, until once more 
The little tangled tremor of woven shade 

Spreads its live tissue o'er the pebbly floor. 



Yes, here, loved pool, here let me dream ! for here. 
Through mine own heart's most tranquil lake-water. 

Lights also from afar, send o'lier gleams : 
Dreams of that distant other love draw near. 

That seems so sweet, and only sweet in dreams ! 



Again — ah, slothful-sweet! — it seems I see 
Beauty which once I knew full bitterly : 

Fair faces, long forgotten, rise again. 
I see them smile, and fi-own and smile, at me ; 

And sigh for all their falseness, with no pain. 



Then, lifting lids, I catch thy mirrorings 

Of leaf and sky, of green and glancing things, 

Which oft thy wayward 23ebbles wavei- through. 
Oh, how like these are my imaginings 

One tenderest interlude of false and true ! 

An. ast. 18. 



MALL OCR'S POEMS. 35 



To B. W. 

On her Birthday, June 21st. 

Child of tlie whole year's floweriest time, 

Sister to all the sunniest houi^s. 
Daughter of June, whose each year's chime 

Is rung by choirs of bu^ds and flowers ; 
The Summer's queen of the days is near, 

Like a rose the Summer opens and swells. 
Listen a moment ! Pause and hear 
How the richest roses of all the year 

Once more are ringing thy bii'th day bells. 
Soft be my words. Thou hast others near 
With words and wishes and gifts more dear ; 
And as for me, may'st thou only hear 

My words as a whisper borne by the breeze 

From dwelling to dwelling across the trees — 
A half-articulate voice that says, 
Though the rose-scent dies and the rose decays, 

The rose of the spirit never is sere. 
Soft as roses be all thy ways, 
And thou, may'st thou through all thy daj^s 
Open and greaten even as these. 

Petal b}' jDetal, and year by year. 

Torquay, an. pet. 19. 



36 MALLOCK'S POEMS. 

TO MDLLE. A. DE B. 

[written on a CHRISTMAS CARD.] 
I. 

What shall the humble verse exjDress 
I dare to-day to breathe to thee ? 

Levity, or tenderness? 
It's all the same to me. 



Shall I say your charming dresses 
Have h subtler charm than fashion ? 

Shall I say ^^onr glance expresses 
Something more than passion ? 



Shall I tell you that your face is 
Something more than pretty "? 

Shall I call your wayward phrases 
Something more than wdtty? 

IV. 

Shall I tell you that you biing 

A joy where'er ; ou enter, 
That's w^arm as summer, fresh as sjiring, 

And stops as long as w^inter ? 



No — I'll say no w^ord of this : 

It's all so plain, although so true. 
I'll only wish you half the bliss 

We all receive from you. 

Christmas, 1879. 



MALLOCK'S POEMS. 37 



TO A FRIEND. 



Of all the many memories we have sown, 
We two together, and seen arise in flowers, 
Whose roots go deep into the past sweet hours, 

Which one, when all the rest are overblown, 

Shall we still water and tend with constant care ? 

Ah, fellow-Avatcher many a long night through. 

For me, I were most fain to think of you 
Pale as so many a dawn with me you were, 
Just when the night turned chill, and the grey air 

Found all things fallen on sleep, and wet with dew ; 

And on your soul the solemn past hours weighed, 

Those marvellous hours flirough which you had waked 
with me, 

AYatching the tender moonlight and soft shade, 

Like waveiing love-thoughts which vague doubts invade, 
Irresolute on the sweet breast of the sea, 

All the night long ; until we turned to mark, 
Over long hues of dun hills far away, 

The slow grey grow into the Eastern dark. 
And the slow saffron grow into the grey. 

Leave Chance to garden all .meaner memories! 
Let hope and triumph, let defeat and care. 
Let outworn loves, dimmed eyes and faded hair. 

Rouse if they will remorse, or smiles or sighs ; 
So that we still may ponder how all of these 
Shrank back abashed before those moonht seas, 

And the grey '^alm of those far-dawning skies ! 

Torquay, an. «3t. 19. 



H8 MALL OCR'S POEMS. 



BRUSSELS AND OXFORD. 



How lirst we met do you still remember ? 

Do you still remember our last adieu ? 
You were all to me, that sweet September : 

Or, what, I wonder, was I to you? 



But I will not ask. I will leave in haze 

My thoughts of you, and your thoughts of me ; 

And will rest content that those sweet fleet days 
Are still my tender est memory. 



I often dream how we went together 

Mid glimmering leaves and gliiiering hghts, 

And watched the twilight Belgian weather 
Dying into the starriest nights : 



And over our heads the throbbing million 
Of- bright fires beat, like my heart, on high ; 

And the music clashed from the lit pavilion, 
And we were together, you and I. 

V, 

But a hollow memory now suffices 

For what, last summer, was real and true ; 

Since here am I by the misty Isis, 
And under the fogs of London you. 



MALLOCK'S POEMS. 39 



But what if yoii, like a swift magician, 

Were to change the faihng, fiowerless year — 

Were to make that true that is now a vision, 
And brino- back Summer and Brussels here ? 



For Fanny, I know, that if you come hither 
You miU bring with you the time of flowers. 

And a breath of the tender Belgian weather. 
To Oxford's grey autumnal towers. 



And in frost and fog though the late year dies, 
Yet the hours again will be warm and fair. 

If they melt once more in jouv dark, deep eyes, 
And are meshed again in your golden hair. 

Oxford, an £et. 23. 



40 MALLOGK'S FOEMS. 



NATUEA YEETICORDIA. 

Sed iibi oris aurei Sol radiantibus oeulis 
Lustra vit aethera album, sola dura, mare ferum, 
Pepnlitque noctis umbras vegetis sonij)edibus, 
Ita de quiete molli, rabida sine rabie, 
Simul ipsa pectore Atys sua facta recoluit, 
Liquidaque mente vidit sine quis ubique foret, 
Animo aestuante rursum reditum ad vada tetulit : 
Ibi maria vasta visens lacrymantibus oeulis 
Patriam allocuta moesta est ita voce miseriter. 

Catullus. 



MALLOCWS POEMS. 41 



NATUKA VERTICOKDIA. 



Ah, on that morning how I cursed the Hgiit ! 
Let it be nameless — all the shameless night, 

The spent fleet pleasure, I'anged by hound-SAvift pain. 
The pitiless morning smote mine aching sight, 

And would not let me hide in slee23 again. 



No spongy East — no slough of soiled grey skj^ 
I could haye borne that well. But splendidly, 

Pitilessly pure, and pitilessly fair-, 
I knew the Eoan r jse-light — sordid I, 

Unclean in all that wash of radiant air. 



The day-spiing crushed me with its yoiceless scorn, 
Burning towards God, nor heading mc forlorn. 

Dumb and cast out from all that infinite choii- — 
That Titan praise — the pyean of the morn, 

Scaling God's throne with a thunder of color and fire. 



Ah, there outside, the splendor and the blaze ! 
The soft sun, crimsoning through an amber haze, 

Was flushing all the fail* orient sea. 
And I shrank, and cried, ' My right is gone to gaze, 

Alas, with these poUuted eyes, on thee ! 



42 MALL OCR'S POEMS. 



' (luiltily now I tremble as I behold 

That beaut}' which I yearned so for of old, 

Cringe now with shame in the old clear love's stead- 
Cower from yon glory of molten misty gold, 

ISubJimed in fervent fumes of rose and red. 



' Then is the color hushed a space ; and higher, 
!S])linters and glittering flakes of scarlet lire 

In wastes of clearest saffron, pale and rare ; 
And over all, in many a crown-lil^e gyre. 

Pink fleeces floating faint in purple air. 



' Oh, love estranged ! oh, sweet, lost paradise 
Of light and color ! To my shame-shrunk eyes, 

Those great j^ure things — how alien now they are ! 
How do they scorn me, these intense blue skies, 

And clear white chasteness of the morning star ! 



' How am I fallen and changed since yesterday, 
When yonder sun was clouded soft and grey, 

From this same place 1 watched with silent sight 
The shifting sunlights on the shadowy bay, 

And faint horizons flash with lengths of light ; 



'And felt my heart, so standing here alone, 
Throb, and my whole soul on a sudden grown 

Yearning and glad and wild and sad in me, 
For love of those far happy clouds that shone. 

Grey fleeced with silver, o'er the silver sea. 



M ALLOC ITS POEMS. 43 



'Then gbosts of unknown longings swelled my breast, 
Measureless love and infinite unrest, 

A reaching after some withdrawn Delight, 
I knew was somewhere, lured me to the quest. 

Lost parent of an orj^han appetite — 

XI. 

' Of a longing that lay ever in wait for me. 
To sweep me far, far off, aerially. 

Out of myself, away from all mean things, 
Strong as the sea-bound wind, whereon to sea 

Is swejjt the sea-mew's sweet white width of wings. 

XII. 

'Vague, vast, at sundry times 'twould drift me — yea, 
The vaster for its vagueness — far away, 

I wist not whitherward, in the stream thereof ; 
Tinged with the many moods of night and day. 

Changeful of shape, yet still one changeless love. 

XIII. 

' Oh, how it filled me, lured me, evermore ! 
Now in the intricate forest's foliaged core — 

Oreen ravelled lighfs, and rich-barked boughs of trees : 
Now in the noon's bright foam-flash showered to shore, 

Ahd blue, soft distances of sunlit seas : 

XIV. 

' Now in fierce night-falls o'er the desolate main, 
AVlien death was in the weird waves' mad refrain. 

And the lightning shook its wild hair on the sweep 
Of the great free foam-fraught sea-going hurricane. 

Over the hoary darkness of the deep. 



44 MALLOCK'S POEMS. 

XV. 

'And now, Avlien skies Avere faint and stars were few, 
'T would thrill me, shaped like sadness, through and 
through — 

Times when the low winds lisped their tenderest tune ; 
Dim sorrow-slaking seasons of soft dew, 

And lulled seas silvering slowly to the moon. 



'Yes, everywhere I felt, at every hour, 

Through my soul's lulls or tumults, one same Power 

Drawing my whole self open by degrees ; 
My love seemed greetening towards that perfect Hower 

Whereof the strange witch sang to Socrates. 

XVII. 

' Then these things made me noble. Then they teemed 
For me with voices. Voices, or I dreamed. 

Lulled me at all times and on every side. 
Wordlessly crying, "Come! come!" and they seemed 

The voices of the Spirit and the Bride. 



' But now — ah, fallen, fallen ! — I do not dare 
To raise myself and hearken. Alas ! I bear 

A great weight, heavier than a millstone is— 
Bitterer than any terrible proud despair — 

Self's scorn of self, God's bitterest Nemesis. 



' For now this sun-stream of clear rosy light 
Serves but to show me vile in mine own sight, 

All m}^ soul's raiment spotted still with mire. 
Marred by the ghastly havoc of the night, 

And conquering ravage of a scorned desire. 



MALLOCK'S POEjVS. 



' And now the old voices all in vain for me 
Will sound ; for now no proud antiphone 

Dares, as of old, to answer from ni}^ soul. 
How will it cease, the evangel of the sea ! 

How ^vill the dawn unfold, a vain blank scroll ! 



' Maimed, crawHng wretch ! Nay, I shall rise no more. 
Poor false-fledged Icarus, wingless as before ; 

Maimed by the fall ! To its old mortality 
This mortal cleaves. What right had I to soar ? 

Of the earth earthy — ay, the earth for me ! 

XXII. 

' Oh, how m}^ tense brow aches with dull, thick care !' . 
Then I threw wide the window, and laid bare 

My face, to reahse that hour of hours. 
Ah, what a gust of fi'eshness !— morning air 

With rainy scents of earth, and whiffs of flowers ! 

XXIII. 

And there the birds were, singing ; and far and sweet 
Came the crisj) shore-song of the ebb's retreat ; 

And I sighed and cried as I looked towards the sea, 
' How must thy sands now swim one shining sheet, 

With orange sunlight, and the breeze breathe free ! 



' And all the woods be fed with moist perfumes 
Of new-blown flowers festooning green wet glooms, 

AVhicli yet the level dawn-flush filters through ; 
And dense drenched evergreens droop heir pendulous 

plumes, 
Grey with the diamond sparkle of all tlie dew ! 



46 MALLOCTCS POEMS. 



' But I ' And yet I still stood gazing there, 

Heavy with sorrow in my stupid stare; 

As might some proud queen's scorned, unlooked-at lover 
Who, thinking so to cheat entire despair, 

Iveej^s gazing still, though all his hopes are over. 

XXVI. 

And thus — I know not how — a stealthy Peace, 
Swathed in dim weeds like Grief's, by soft degrees, 

To me, who knew her not, drew gently near; 
Till my lids smarted with a coming ease, 

And the dawn-light glimmered dim through a shaken teai 



And I felt my shame's dull ice was molten through. 
And hung there flickering, globed in hopeful dew : 

And once again a sad, compassionate cry, 
C^ame in the holy wordless voice I knew, — 

' Infirm of love, why hast thou left us '? Why ? 

xxvni. 
' What hast thou found more pure, more great, more fair 
Maddened for whose sweet sake thou thus couldst dare 

To blind thine eyes to us, and laugh to scorn 
The flower-sweet fellowship of the early air, 

And far-flushed outgoings of the even and morn ? 

XXIX. 

'What is it? — what, thus worthier far than we ? 
Art thou content, and shall thy bartering be? 

The Hol}^ Spirit of down, with its tongues of flames. 
The proud song of the sunrise and the sea. 

Sold for those red lips, and their babble of shame ? 



MALLOCK'S POEMS. 47 

XXX. 

' What liast thou found more than the love we ""ave ? 
What SYmjoathy more strong to succor and save? 

Hast not thou known a deeper comfort hes 
In the deep lanouao-e of the wind and -^^ave 

Than in any human words, or silent eyes? 

XXXI. 

' Do not man's fi-ienclships fail, and fade, and fall ; 
And jorisoned love turn weary, and weak, and paU ; 

Lust humble, and blind, and blast, and then grow cold ? 
But we change not, we oyerhve them all — 

All lusts and loyes, all young desires or old. 



' Launch then on us th}^ unanchored life, for we 
Sweep ever, ever on to the unknown sea, 

In a river of music. Hear our caU — be wise ! 
On sweep the floods! Say, shall they carry thee 

On their broad breast of boundless harmonies ? 

XXXIll. 

' Lo, there is no desire so wild of wing. 
No strange pure nomad passion jDasturmg 

By nameless weUs, and remote grass alone. 
But strike our harp, and thou shalt find some string 

With these to quiver and yearn in unison. 

x-jxiv. 
'Come, now, and prove us if our w^ords be true! 
Rise, roam the fragrant deep green j^laces througli, 

AVhere the new gospels of the wild-flowers tell 
How dew-awakened scents and virgin dew 

Make a whole heaven in every bending- bell. 



48 MALL OCR'S POEMS. 



' Or where the wave's voice sparkles in the sun 
With cold, pure foam — ^there make the done undone : 

There spurn the past ! for lo, our lovers must 
Draw near as in no humbled vesture spun 

Of love's threads tanoied in the loom of lust. 



' Rise o'er thy past, and burn its routed night 
Into gold fumes, and crowds of crimson light, 

Sunhke!' And as I gazed, more splendidly 

Glowed, as it seemed, the dawn-flush, and more bright 

Rippled the rough fresh rose-light on the sea. 



And from mine eastward lips broke forth a crv, 
' Ah, that my flesh were but a cloud, to die 

Into the infinite joy that hath no name, 
As dies yon rose-mist into the blue, pure sky — 

Yon almost fluttering film of rare rose flame! 



' Haste — let me forth, and wander by the seas. 

Or through green places, damp with flowers and trees, 

And wash old stains ofl' — cleanse my soul anew! 
Yea, surely find a sacrament in these, 

A second baptism in the morning dew.' 

An. 9fit. 19. 



3rALL GK'S P OEMS. 49 



^NEAS TO DIDO. 



I LEAVE tliee, but I love thee none the less, 

And this my love, self-wounded, smarts and stings. 
Hail, Sorrow ! like a goad thy bitterness 
Shall drive me to great things. 

n. 
For Love's sweet wine has lulled me overlong. 

Loosening my soul— woe's me ! But now at length 
Let it be mixed and made with scorn and wrong, 
A bitter draught of strength. 

in. 
I am athirst for such, having known of old 

Greatness is suckled at the breasts of Pain. 
But must — ah ! must the sword of burning cold 
Go through the hearts of twain ? 



Hark! the winds call me — 'Lover, love, fly! 

We to thy true home will companion thee- 
Divine untold-of realms, whereto the sky 
Stoops down behind the sea. 



'Shake loose thy sails, and leave the land's deHght, 

And we will sweep thee outward to thine home. 
Drive through the wild green billows, and the white 
Wild-driven smoke of foam !' 
4 



no MALLOCK'S POEMS. 

VI. 

Ev'n as the pale hag's muffled muttering 

Draws down the moon from heaven, the spell of Fate 
Draws me from thee. Our bonds hi bursting string, 
And all are violate ! 



I am doomed, and called, and destined. Mine, mine own 

Destiny calls ; nor needs to call again. 
Though late, I come ; and may my pain atone 
Por sweet days spent in vain ! 

VIII. 

Oh, love, I seal our severing with this kiss. 

Thy lips were warm when thus I first waxed bold ; 
Not dew-damp, bloodless, miserable like this. 
Oil, love, thy lips are cold ! 



Farewell, thou sweet child of my great foe's wrath! 

Farewell, O pleading, beautiful sad face ! 
Thou wast the golden fruitage in my path, 
Dropt to make vain my race. 

X. 

I may not heed mine agony nor thine, 

O loved one, over-fair, and over-true ! 
Hail, painful Grlory, making Pain divine ! 
Adieu, sweet love, adieu ! 

An. set. 17. 



MALLOCK'S POEMS. 51 



FKOM AN UNFINISHED DRAMA, 

CALLED 

^NEAS AND DIDO. 

; A Terrace overlooking the Sea, before Dido's Palace at 
Carthage. Moonlight. 

Meecuey. 

Fae cradled in the sacred secret west 
My dwelling- lies, from every taint of iU 
Bastioned, and belted round inviolabl}^. 
By azure oceans glassed in boundless calm, 
O'er whose clear face not ever mortal keel 
Passes to blur the blue transj^arency. 
There is no cold nor fi-ost, nor any care. 
Nor any tread of sinward-hastening feet 
Pollutes the soil ; but the pui-e opulent Earth 
Pours forth her wealth for those that ever are. 
And gods behold their father face to face. 
And there some souls — so fate decrees — of men, 
Some — very few — -may hard admittance win, 
Purged and made holy by the lustral wave 
Of the soul's blood, sj)ilt in the war with flesh. 
And over flesh victorious. But from this 
Hard fight most shrink — most even of these elect. 
Deadened by the gross senses, and no less 
By those great foes to calmness, love and hate, 
Not bridled in. But that such sad defeat 
Befall not now ni}^ strenuous care must be ; 
For I am Maia's son, the wanderer god, 



52 MALL OCR'S POEMS. 

The pinion-footed, golden-wanded god, 

Wliom with a matter of no mean import 

Freighted the sire now sends ; and here I stand 

Before this palace, seeking speech of one — 

One of the holy elect, who, led astray 

By too-encroaching love, without high aid 

Must miss for ever the steep road to fame. 

And, therefore, hither am I sent of Jove, 

To unglue the eyelids of his sleeping soul. 

Stuck with such fatal rheum. Ha ! — this is he ! 

But not alone — his beautiful curse is with him ; 

Dear curse, more deadly in that she is dear. 

They come to hear the voices of the night ; 

They come to look into each other's eyes. 

And tie fresh vows about them. Ha, dark Queen ! 

Thou little know'st one burning word of mine 

Can smoulder up that hemp of lovers' knots ; 

But thou shalt soon be taught. I'll wait awhile, 

And view thee viewless, till more fitting time. 

Enter ^neas and Dido. 

jEneax. Oh, light and silence of the summer night. 
How thy voice tills me, though the words are lost — 
All lost save one, which, ever like a mist 
Seen flung above some unseen waterfall, 
Bises. That word is love. O queen ! mine own, 
Look in my eyes. There was a hungry season, 
When, inarticulate as a wave that creej^s 
With its white lips into a whispering shell, 
My soul received these voices, knowing not 
What is to love ; but through the famishing days 
A hunger haunted me, without the knowledge 
To seek for food ; and, like a hunted stag, 
Driven to the verge of some sheer precipice, 



3IA LL CK\S P OEMS. 53 

And wild to spring somewhither, from ni}^ Hps 
My spirit hung ; till love, revealed through thee, 
Came beyond hope, as breaks the sudden moon 
On one who, wandering bhndly round his home. 
Seems to himself far strayed into strange ways. 
My Dido, speak. 

Dido. Trojan, cleave to me ! 

None can love more than I ; most will love less. 
Oh, use me not as thy soul's stepping-stone, 
Climbing, as some men chmb, to loftier calm ! 
• Tread not my poor neck down in death to rise. 
If rise thou canst. 

^nem. Kest, for I cannot rise. 

Dido. I trust thee. Yet — deep in my heart there lurks 
Some cold disquiet. AVarm me with thy words, 

And tell me of the growing of thy love. 

***** 

Scene, the same. Time, towards morning. A storm rising. 
Mercury meanirJiiJe has been troubling the mind of JE^eas 
with tlioaglits of Itaty, and his destined- work there. 

Dido. Will not you look on me ? Ah, what means this — 
Your pale, changed face ? And why so wistfully 
Goes ever to the seaward your wan gaze ? 
What strange thoughts stii^ you now ? 

u^ '"as. My memories 

Rise hke a storm and stu- me. In mine ears 
Harsh shrieks and hollow rumor of armor and arms 
Sound like a dream, and windy manes and plumes 
Of horses and of heroes waver and toss 
Dreamlike and dim ; and all the plains of Tro}^ 
Move once ag.iin with clouds of battle-dust 
That meet hke thunder-clouds, and through the dark 
I see the javelins hghten, .and I hear 



54 MALLOCICS POEMS. 

The round shields boom like timbrels, mid the shouts 

Of fighting men and falling. Hark ! the wind 

Eises, and wheeling voices of the air 

Sing in our ears, and ever sweep to sea — 

The sea, where no land is, nor any home 

But storm, and calm, and freedom. Storm — ay, storm! 

I feel it, it will come, it is in my hair — 

The sweet, wild, infant storm. Ah me, my love. 

Do not you feel the wild wind in your hair ? 

What ? Are my words wild, too ? What is it I say ? 

What have my memories to do with storm ? 

Ah, I have seen Have I not made my nest, 

As the white, wandering, homeless sea-bird does. 

On the storms and wide free j^laces of man's life — 

Battle, and wreck, and ruin? Have I not been 

Nursling of many storms ? Ah me ! that night 

Wherein my eyes were opened, and I saw, 

Staring aghast, where all the towers of Troy 

Loomed high like dreams above the fiery clouds — 

Suddenly saw how aU the quivering haze 

Was full of stalking Presences, that went 

Tall as the tow^ers, and breasting drifts of flame — 

The cloudy immortal forms of ruining gods ! 

And there, far off, remote from all the rest, 

Prankt on the topmost crag of masonry, 

Was one — a lonely terror in the night. 

Shining, who held iu hand a shield that shone, 

And who a burning nimbus round her hair. 

Wore like a meteor, and who looked with eyes 

That did out-stare the furnace. My blood froze. 

'Twas Pallas' self. I knew her. This was she. 

I knew the scaly arms of cyanos ; 

I knew the grey gleam of the owl-hke eyes ; 

I knew the end was come ; and down from heaven 



MALLOCK'S POEMS. 55 

I knew the night had fallen, a snare of doom ; 
And under it our god-built Pergamus-7- 
One darkness ruddy with a thousand fires. 

•X- -x- * * 

An. »t. 18, 19. 



56 MALLOGK'S POEMS. 



AEIADNE. 

'Prospicit, et magnis curarnm fluctiiat undis.' 

Catullus. 



MALLOCK'S POEMS. 57 



AKIADNE. 



Motionless, like some maddening Bacchanal 
Struck marble in mid frenzy, with the call 

Caught on her sandering hps, so seemed she there, 
Gazing ; all marble, save the rise and fall 

Of the long troubled amber of her hau\ 



No motion else ; but ever far away 

She gazed towards the sky's low paler grey 

The swoll'n seas heaved against, and evermore 
Blew in her face white powdery drift of spray — 

That live-tressed statue on the lonely shore. 



So round her there the storm grew gustier. 

And hoar sky storm-birds round her, with no fear. 

Wheeled wondering at this strange unmoving thing, 
And nearer to her feet, and yet more near. 

The wide white wave-edges washed whispering. 



But she of nothing such had any care, 
None of her loosened tiar, and straying hair 

XJnshepherded in the cold and fro ward gale — 
Fell not from off her salt breast, pale and bare, 

The loosened crimson raiment slowly fail. 



58 MALL OCR'S POEMS. 



Sorrow had numbed each sense ; yea, >Sorro.w now 
Had numbed itself ; and she, she wist not how 

Nor why she sorrowed — only dreamily 
Felt the blown foam-sleet chill on cheek and brow, 

Saw the great foam-crests rearing far to sea. 



And like the sea her soul was. There she found 
A better voice than an^^ of those fast bound 

In her lips j)etrified, and grief-choked breast — 
The unutterable despairing of the sound 

Of the dull, drear, troubled sea, that could not rest. 

VII. 

Till it seemed despair changed shape, and grew delight, 
Whenever the proxy-wail of the chafed waves white 

Took heart for a stronger gust, and writhed on high 
Wildlier, and the whole sea-chorus infinite 

Sated her gluttonous grief with a vaster cry. 

VIII. 

That saved her — eased the deadly speechlessness, 
The famine of tears, brought the strained breast some 

Ay, verily, there she had found a comforter — [ease ; 
The unfathomable sympathy of the seas. 

The desolate depths for fellow-sorrower. 



So she endured ; and all one hueless hue 
The day went by. little that day she knew 

Of time, till at length, south on the lorn sea-line, 
A Hush of stormy fire aroused her view — 

One long low jagg'd red streak — the sunset sign. 



MALLOCK'S POEMS. 69 



Then — help. But had that storm-day held its peace, 
Strewn spangling gold-dust over blae clear seas, 

That foamed at edge in twinkling lily -flower, 
She had surely died — day's hateful happiness 

Kobbed of his prize the young god paramour. 

An. 8et. 19. 



60 MALLOCK'S POEMS. 



A MARKIAGE PEOSPECT. 

(from an unfinished drama.) 

Why shonld I heed their raihngs ? What's a prude ? 

A devil's scarecrow in the fields of good. 
Let them rail on. I think a wedding-day 
Looks best, as mountains do, som e miles away, 

Or squalid fishing- smacks far out to sea, 
Seen lily-sailed in sunshine and blue haze, 
Where the delicious lights are all men chase, 

And no man ever reaches. And so I'm free 
Another six weeks — move in a rich half light, 
A tenderest compromise of dark and bright, 

A magic season, in short, when eyes that shine 

And lips that whisper with soft words, combine 
The spice of wrong, the conscience-ease of right, 

And deepest sighs come- most luxuriously. 

Then too this twilight-time leads not to night 

But sunrise — that at least will gladden me, 
The sunrise of my day of married life. 
Ere bride and bridegroom fade to man and wife : 

And I meanwhile, a short time more, am free — 
Or half free ; wherefore let me love my fill 

Of half-loves, ere I consecrate my days. 
In sober, sombre truth, for good and ill. 

To the one worship of a withering face. 

An. ait. 19. 



MALLOCirS POEMS. 61 

AT MORNING. 



New from yon clioirs of sparklings far awa}^ 
Fresh witli tlie South, and smelling of the sea, 

Oh, how this young breeze pours clean into me 
The gladness of the childhood of the day ! 
The floating pearl-hghts twinkle and dip and play 

O'er all the soft smooth sea-blue, fast and free ; 

Whilst the tide's influence makes deliciousl}' 
Music and laughter in the little bay, 

With ripple of song, in shoreward, ghstening quick. 

Live glass o'er clearest sands seen under it. 

And there amongst yon low rocks leaping sweet 
In coral-shapen blossom of tender spray, 

Low-gurgling with loose wash of foam-music. 
Drunk with the deep child-gladness of the day ! 



Oh, morning joy! oh, fresh sea-scented air! 

Wliere is the broken joy thou canst not heal. 
Which thought and doubt have racked and torn 
piecemeal? 
All, breeze, breathe on, breathe hither and slake my care i 

The summer sea's evangel with thee bear ; 
Into mine inmost spirit let it steal ! 

Yea, breeze, breathe on, breathe hither, and make me feel 
AU the sea's summer in my hfted hair ! 
No thought is needed by thy felt delight 
To mediate betwixt us. Oh, June air, 
Thy certain raj)ture thrills me through and through — 
A conquering joy that puts all doubt to flight. 
False let it be^ — if truth be anywhere, 
This sweet delusion at the least is true. 

An. £et. 19. 



62 MALLOCKS POEMS. 



LINES ON THE DEATH OF 

A PET DOG 

BELONGING TO LADY DOROTHY NEVILL. 

'Animula, vagula, blandula.' 



MALL OCR'S POEMS. 63 



LINES ON THE DEATH OF A PET DOG. 



Wheee are jou now, little wandering 
Life, that so faithfully dwelt with us, 
Played mth us, fed with us, felt with us. 

Years we grew fonder and fonder in? 



You, who but yesterday sprang to us. 

Are we forever bereft of you ? 

And is this all that is left of you— 
One little grave and a pang to us ? 

June, 1878. 



64 MALLOCICS POEMS. 



PYGMALION 



TO HIS STATUE, BECOME HIS WIFE. 



Is this then so, and have I striven in vain 

To hide the change I suffer? And can you see 
Everything is not all it used to be ? 

Yes, love, that past can come no more again. 

Am I in pain, too ? Good — ^you have read my pain, 
Known it is very great. That comforts me. 



For now knowing this, I know your lips will spare 

Reproaches, leave the world to blur my name. 

Mark my face well. No flush of silly shame, 

But pallor only, and calm of grief is there — 

Grief — yes, in that we have one thing still to share, 

We two ; for you, you will love on the same. 



What do I mean ? Ah, me ! how tenderly 

Your sweet eyes ask, which once to me could bring 
Balm, by a look, for any grievous thing. 
What is it? Well, 'tis best that I reply- 
Falter forth all myseK, or by-and-by 

My life will yield thee a crueller truth-telling. 



MALL OCR'S POEMS. 65 



Yet will you understand? or will your heart 
Conceive my phrased sorrow, or ever tell 
Truly to what a depth I am pitiable, ' 

And how to thee hath fallen the better part ? 

Truly how far the happier one thou art, 
Whose love is still a hving water- well ? 



What should I tell thee of some man who fain 

Would love some woman, and find love's font run dry ? 
Ah, ' There's none such,' it is on your hps to cry, 
' That ever longed to love and longed in vain — 
Nay, none so very wretched!' Pause again! 

Pause and look near, look near! That man am I. 



Yes — as some blind man standing on the shore. 

With the whole wet drift of the ocean-storm blown free 
On his mute lids, and hearing thunderily 
All the hoarse hollow length of breakers roar, 
Feels one great longing whelm him for one more — 
One wild sight more of the old yearned-for sea ; 



Even so I long, taking this one wild sight, 

Oh woman, of thee, for a love that is passed away — 
That comes no more, as never on any day 

To that dark auditor the seen dehght 

Of the fleets of free white weaves, and foam-showers white. 
And dark coasts dim with stormy clouds of spray. 
5 



MALLOCK'S POEMS. 



Do I wrong thee lightly ? Nay : thou canst divine 
Too well the lines of anguish on my brow. 
Thou must have anguish, too ; but happier thou 

"Wilt still have where to love, for whom to pine ; 

"Whilst I only to yearn to love is mine. 

But mv dead love revives not anyhow. 



I have said. But you, do you take me, saying thus ? 

Can you ever know how sorrowful men's loves are ? 

How we can only hear Love's voice from far — 
Only despaired-of eyes be dear to us — 
Mute ivory, that can never be amorous — 

Far fair gold stigma of some loneliest star ? 



The Love we follow is cruel — a mystery ; 

Upon the horizon only doth he dwell. 

And thou, thou art now no more inscrutable. 
Thou hast given and opened all thine heart to me. 
I thought to embrace ; I stretched mine arms to thee ; 

And lo, I stand and stretch them in farewell. 



Ah, one dear dream, wherein I had hoped to snare 
The love I chase for ever! oh, ultimate 
Rest, as I dreamed thee ! Lo, my love, my fate 

Calls us of old far off — I know not where. 

I follow. Adieu, sweet eyes ! love once was there 
For me ; but love has left them desolate. 



MA LLO CK\S P OEMS. 07 



Tired pilgrim of a fugitive vague delight, 
AVliere shall I rest ? Alas ! I fain would be 
Some far-out star over the windy sea, 
Bathed hj the wild spray-sprinkled breath of night. 
With the morn for lullaby, and the saffron light 
Of the far happy morn to cradle me. 

All set. 20. 



MALLOCICS POEMS. 



FRIENDLESS. 



They^ — had they left me ? Did they trust that so 
I should be comfortless ? Their hating eyes 
Meant it, I know ; and all their virtuous lips, 
Tight with a snarling sanctity of scorn, 
Meant it, I know, that day. And I replied— 
Looked on as some pollution — no one word ; 
Made no appeal to those just arbiters, 
Not any of whom had any softening glance, 
Even in the last. Only I rose, and mute, 
Condemned of all my friends, passed right away 
Out of their doors, unpitied, all alone. 
Into the homeless storm. And lo, the storm 
Bellowed, and howled, and raved, and welcomed me. 
And the blown desolate drizzlings fell on me 
Like friends ; and, sweeter than aU kisses, shed 
On brow and cheek chill mist of briny rain, 
Full of the sea's breath ; and my whole heart swelled. 
Feeling the great blasts tangled in my hair. 
And streaiLiing on my brow ; and through the roar. 
With a blind craving I chmbed, and made my way 
Out to a neighboring beetling, iron-bound coast. 
Facing towards the bleak Septentrion. 
And as I climbed, the thunder of the hid sea 
• Broke on my ears, and high in air I saw 
Grey vapor of flying foam going up like smoke 
Over those heights, not, save on days like these. 
Ever acquainted with the least blown spray. 
Friends — had they left me ? Oh, I went alone 
Along the brink of those sheer precipices, 



MALLOCirS POEMS. 69 

And felt the storms my brethren, and had ease. 

For all the sea was dun, and muffled up 

With yellow fog, and white with tufted foam ; 

And far below, against the pitiless base. 

Shattering amongst black rocks, great bellowing waves 

Dashed their despairing heads, and groaning died. 

An. set. 19. 



70 MALL OCR'S POEMS. 



TOO LATE ! 



I. 

What, dead — quite dead? And can you hear no prayer 
Already? Have you in so short a space 
Gone so far from your old abiding-place ? 

And is this all you have left me, this — to bear 
The still accusinffs of that dear marred face ? 



How they make bitterer aU my grief than gall ! 

Oh, loving eyes, for ever closed on me ; 

Worn face that look'st so unreproachf ully ! 
Too late, too late, I would I could recall 

Every unloving word I have said to thee ! 



Have I been blind, never to recognise 

The wounds I made till now ? Ah, now I know 
My cruel work in all that dumb great woe ! 

I see how piteous look thy poor closed eyes, 
And know that it is I have made them so. 



Oh why, why did you love me all these years ? 

Why not grow cruel to me as I to you ? 

Had both been false, neither had had to rue 
One thing, nor shed, as I do, hard vain tears. 

Why have you taunted me by being so true ? 



MALLOGK'S POEMS. 71 



Why have you let tlie whole remorse be mine "? 
Thy most sad mouth, why did it never say 
One counter-word of anger ? Lovingly, 

Why did you let each patient, painful line. 
Deepen in moanless silence day by day ? 



Why will tears never come, till they must fail 
Of ease and comfort, and can only fear? 
AYhy am I moaning now to a deaf ear — 

Moaning, as if my words could ever avail 

To make one deep gTooved pain-hne shallower ? 

An. set. 20. 



72 MALLOCK'S POEMS. 



THE LIGHT OF THE WOELD. 

'Behold I stand at the door and knock.' 



MALLOCK'S POEMS. 73 



THE LIGHT OF THE WOELD. 

J. 

Oh, can it be that still Thou art standing there, 
Outside mine heart's door, in Thine own sweet guise, 

AVith the old words, ' Oh, open, and be wise !' 
With patient knock and piteous j^leading prayer? 
Yet still I hear thee. But too sad to bear, 
. My Lord, Thy voice hath grown — Thy yearning cries 

Broken with love, whereto no love rephes. 
Yet hope — hope still. I need not yet despair. 
I will hasten and undo the door at last ; 

I am hastening now for fear thou else be gone. 
Enter, my Christ ! or ere the hour be past ! 

Ah, me ! how dusty are the door-posts grown ! 

Baffled again! Help, help me here alone — 
The hinofes and the lock are rusted fast. 



And I am di'eamy and weak. I cannot teU 

What slothful power hath hold on aU my heart, 
I would some thunder-bolt of thought would dart 

Eight in the midst, and burst the drowsy speU, 

Sharp with fierce thunder and flame intolerable ; 
That this blind, cursed film were cloven apart ; 
That my dull eyes might open with a start, 

And sting, brought face to naked face with hell! 

Lord, I have no strength left to come to Thee. 
Oh would that me, thus weak in drunkard's wise. 
Something might rouse, sharp as the chill surprise 

Of interlunar fresh night winds, that be 

Blown in some reveller's dizzy, aching eyes, 

Wild from sea-stars and windy wastes of sea ! 

An. set. 19. 



74 MALLOCKS POEMS. 



SONNET ON THE LAST VERSE OF 

THE BIBLE. 

' If any man add unto these things, God shall add unto him the 
plagues that art written in this book ; and if any man shall take 
away from the words of the hool< of this prophecy, God shall take 
away his part ont of the book of life, and out of the holy city, and 
from the things that are written in this book. He which testifieth 
these things saith, Surely I come quickly. Amen. Even so, come, 
Lord Jesus. ' 



MALLOGK'S POEMS. 75 



SONNET 



THE LAST VEKSE OF THE BIBLE. 

Last on the golden lyre ; O last vibration ! 
Still are tliy dread chords quivering fearfully! 

Nor spent and silent shall the long sound be, 
Till, lite a bridegroom, lo, with exultation, 
Over the last, the faithless generation. 

Another sound goes out to welcome Thee, 

Thy spouse, the thunder long delaying ; and ye 
Be blended in one vast reverberation. 

Thou and the trumpet, over land and sea : 
And the day dawns when scarce the righteous stands. 
And the Great Judge, with hard avenging hands. 

And infinite terror heralding His path. 
Sheds the last curse over sins, and seas, and lands. 

From the wine-cup of the fierceness of His wrath. 

An. ;3et. 19. 



76 MA BLOCK'S POEMS. 



PKOTEUS. 

A sense sublime 
Of something far more deeply interfused, 
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns. 

2o: Kal ^vveifMi Koi Koyois rr' a/JLel^o/uiai, 
K\vwv fikv av87)v, ofijua 5* ovx opwv rh (rSv, 

Eur. Hipp. 84. 



MALLOGICS POEMS. 11 



PKOTEUS. 



Sole in blank boundless darkness, dimly bright, 
Tlie horned moon bangs o'er the viewless sea, 

Whose faint lips at my feet wash fitfully 
Up the black shingle in whisperings of crisp light. 
Lonely I stand, the midnight's eremite, 

Whilst my awed seaward gaze goes earnestly 

Into the darkness face to face with me — 
The darkness where the sea is, and the night. 
And lo, I feel It coming again, again. 

Up from the deeps as Pi'oteus did of old. 
Ah, wert thou like that old god of the main, 
To whom we cry, 'Unveil !' for ever in vain, 

Formless Desire, which no eye may behold. 
No hands of ours can weary, and no spell chain. 

n. 
Oh, bosom-friend ! familiar Mystery ! 

Oh, Lurer with veiled face ! oh. Comforter ! 

One spirit of many forms, felt everywhere, 
Wlio knows what manner of Spirit thou mayst be ? 
None, though his most loved haunts are full of thee — 

Valleys where leaves and clear streams sleep and stir, 

The blue flash of the diving kingfisher — 
The rose whose depth of scent soft rains set fi'ee — 

Though thy wild way be with the hurricane, 
Thunder and cloud ; though he behold the day 

Cradhng thee in some lonehest eastern fleece 
Of crimson fire ; and sadly sighing again 
His evening soul bewail thee, dying away 

To unknown lands, and ^'old Hesperian seas. 



78 MALLOCK'S POEMS. 



Lo, even now thou art very near to me, 

But veiled, and far as ever from my prayer. 

Still my soul feels thee, and strange longings there 
Start at thy voice, and cry in choirs towards thee. 
In my mid soul w^hat may this tumult be — 

Longings I cannot rule, that do not dare 

Whole days to stir within their secret lair. 
But at thy call seek their wild Rhodope ? 

One to another in a strange tongue calls : 
I hearken, but can catch not what they say, 
Only I hear their voices far away 

Swell to a passionate clamor at intervals. 
Ah, who art thou, their god ? For what boon pray 

These, mine own inmost soul's vague Bacchanals ? 



What ! wilt Thou never be revealed to us ? 

Must our souls still in blindness follow Thee, 

Nor, borne in swift raft over the deep sea. 
Ever sleep even upon thy Dindymus ? 
Not ever build Thee up a pillared house, 

And serve Thee with articulate liturgy? 

Never before Thine altar bend our knee. 
And twine rare flowers in garlands round Thy brows ? 

No costlier offerings than these prefer — 
Blind discontent, insatiable unrest, 
And lonely love following an unknown quest, 

Sad as man's love for woman, and tenderer ? 
Lo, these be all we offer — alas ! our best : 

No certain gold and frankincense and myrrh! 



MALLOCK'S POEMS. 79 



« 

Do we then waver, and fear we are fools and blind ? 
Doubt we, and ask we whither lead Thy ways ? 
Auk-, whither ! Nay, see whence, pale, doubtful face ! 

Look back and see what things we have left behind — 

Anger, and blinding lusts, and loves that bind 
And the mean voice that to any moment says 
' Stay ! thou art fair ;' as with unflinching pace. 

Veiled One, we follow Thee, and trust to find 
Hereafter, Thee unveiled, knowing and known. 
Set with a rainbow round about Thy throne. 

Soul of our life's unrest ! to find in Thee 

The Thing we have long sought sorrowing here from far- 
The Spirit of the bright and morning star, 

The sunrise, and the sunset, and the sea. 

An. a3t. 20. 



\ 






-^^Iz-Vt 



